Will stepped in closer. “No, I don’t. But did you see her? Did you film her?”
He stared at the ground and kicked it, the camcorder held limp at his side.
“I taped her several times. I knew who she was. I liked her show. She was real friendly, spoke to me and all, knew my name. So, yeah, last Saturday, I saw her. She was such a beautiful girl.”
“Do you have that footage on your memory?” Will pointed to the device in the man’s hand. “It would really help us.”
“Well, let me see. Walk over to my truck where there’s a little shade.” The older man moved quickly ahead, Will following as fast as he could, watching every curve and break in the pavement that could bring him down.
The general leaned inside the cab of an old Ford pickup and ran through his files. It took at least fifteen minutes. Will leaned on the wall of the truck bed.
“This is it,” he said, standing up again. “You can see the date and the time displayed digitally.” He showed Will how to work the camcorder.
In the shade of the cab, Will looked into the little screen. Kristen Gruber was alive and smiling, walking down the fingerfloat, and hopping aboard her boat. Buchanan’s boat was clearly visible nearby. She wore shorts and a white shirt tied to expose her waist. She waved at the cameraman and disappeared below. In a moment, she came back up and her head turned, as if someone had called her name. A man appeared on the fingerfloat beside her boat. He was tall, muscular, and wearing a ball cap. He looked familiar, even though his back was to the camera. At first she seemed to be only listening while he talked. It was too far away and the quality of the recording was too grainy to make out her expression. Then she shook her head.
The man gesticulated—oh, for some sound. His gestures were adamant, and her body language returned the favor. Again, she shook her head and spoke. This went on for a minute.
The man pointed at her. His face was turned enough that he seemed to be shouting. Then he pulled off his cap and walked away. Kristen shrugged and waved again at the general.
“Did you hear that exchange?” Will said. “Between Officer Gruber and the guy in the cap?”
“I couldn’t hear the words, but he sounded mad as hell.”
Will rewound the segment, replayed it. He replayed it a third time, slowing and freezing the screen.
And he knew.
He said, “What happened next?”
“Oh, she shoved off in a few minutes.”
“Alone?”
“Yeah,” he said. “She did that sometimes. Other times, she had male company, if you know what I mean. But she told me she liked to go out on the river by herself to relax. I’m really sorry about what happened to her.”
“What about this man? What did he do after he talked to Officer Gruber?”
“He stomped away, real mad. After that, I don’t know. My fishing buddies showed up and I launched my boat.”
Will took a deep breath. “Have you seen that man around here before?
The old general squinted into the sun. “I don’t pay much attention to the guys. But, yeah, I’ve seen him.”
Chapter Thirty-five
Will climbed back into the car, a curious expression on his face. Cheryl Beth had completed the calls to her bosses.
“Now I’m about to start calling students and ruin their semesters,” she said glumly.
“Hold off,” Will said. He pulled over the computer that was mounted on his dashboard and started typing rapidly. “Now, if only the computer-aided dispatch system is working.” Lines appeared and he scrolled through. He typed in keywords and a blank screen appeared.
“What?” she said.
He laid it out for her. Then he went through it a second time, more slowly. She felt a coldness creeping up her legs, no matter the warm air coming in the windows. Will had his cell at his ear.
“I want you to meet me somewhere.” He gave the address. He mouthed to her: Dodds. “I don’t care if you’re going to the ballgame, they’ll probably lose anyway.” She heard Dodds’ deep and angry voice floating out of the phone. “Well, get there when you can.”
He put the phone down and turned to her. “What if I let you off?”